He was conscious of an
approaching illness, too. When would he wake? . . . and where? A hand
touched his arm. He turned and saw Brother Jacques. There was a
kindly expression on the young priest's face. He now saw the Chevalier
in a new light. It was not as the gay cavalier, handsome, rich,
care-free; it was as a man who, suffering a mortal stroke, carried his
head high, hiding the wound like a Spartan.
"A last look at France, Monsieur le Chevalier, for many a day to come."
The Chevalier nodded.
"For many days, indeed. . . . And who among us shall look upon France
again in the days to come? It is a long way from the Candlestick in
Paris to the deck of the Saint Laurent. The widest stretch of fancy
would not have brought us together again. There is, then, some
invisible hand that guides us surely and certainly to our various ends,
as the English poet says." The Chevalier was speaking to a thought
rather than to Brother Jacques. "Who among us shall look upon these
shores again?"
"What about these shores, Paul?" asked Victor, coming up. "They are
not very engaging just now."
"But it is France, Victor; it is France; and from any part of France
Paris may be reached.
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